


Substitutions

by orphean



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: When Gabriel Lorca found Lieutenant Ash Tyler in that grimy Klingon cell, he knew what he was looking for. He was looking for a saviour, someone who would rip away his pain and replace it with purpose. His hands were hardened and his mind was soft. He needed someone to remake him into the Starfleet officer he once had been. So Lorca decided that he would do that: he’d be kind to him, and serve as his mentor, his friend, his – well, whatever Tyler would allow him. It seemed like the sort of thing a Starfleet captain would do, and if he had to play the role in public, he might as well practice in private.---While waiting for destiny to catch up with him. Gabriel Lorca finds other ways to amuse himself.





	Substitutions

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: Gabriel Lorca is not good people.

When Gabriel Lorca found Lieutenant Ash Tyler in that grimy Klingon cell, he knew what he was looking for. He was looking for a saviour, someone who would rip away his pain and replace it with purpose. His hands were hardened and his mind was soft. He needed someone to remake him into the Starfleet officer he once had been. So Lorca decided that he would do that: he’d be kind to him, and serve as his mentor, his friend, his – well, whatever Tyler would allow him. It seemed like the sort of thing a Starfleet captain would do, and if he had to play the role in public, he might as well practice in private.

A few days following their return the the ship, after Tyler had been cleared for duty and he had accepted the offer of his promotion, Lorca invited him to his quarters for a drink. Tyler, hesitating, accepted.

‘Washington red,’ Lorca told him as he handed him the glass, ‘thought it’d be a taste of home.’

‘To be honest, I’ve always preferred synth ale.’ Nonetheless, he accepted the offered glass and sat down on the sofa. Although his shift had ended several hours ago, he was still wearing his uniform, his hair falling in his face. He wondered if he was nervous to be here. He wondered if he knew what he wanted.

Lorca didn’t actually know much about wine – in his universe, wine had been unable to grow on Earth for the last two centuries, and spirits distilled in orbit were easier to get ahold of – but since coming to this universe he had grown to enjoy it. He liked that two wines identical in appearance could be worlds apart in flavour. He knew the same was true of people.

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ Lorca smiled over his glass.

‘You couldn’t. I’ve never had a captain like you.’ Tyler’s hands moved over the glass, pressing his palms against the coupe. His wine would be too warm. He didn’t seem to care as he tipped the wine into his mouth, taking deep swills. Lorca was not sure how to respond to the compliment. It was genuine and unprompted, and very far from what he was used to.

‘No?’ he prompted, hoping Tyler would tell him more about how he was different, in what ways he could never disappoint him. He sipped at his wine.

‘No,’ Tyler said.

So they spoke of other things – Lorca bragged about the _Discovery_ , barely exaggerating his pride; Tyler told him about his time at the Academy and his favourite books. He did not talk about the war, and he did not talk about the Klingons, and he did not his captivity. There was a part of Lorca that wanted to know more about the battle – if it was as glorious to experience as it was to imagine – but he knew a Starfleet captain, a _real_ Starfleet captain, wouldn’t ask. He didn’t, instead listening to Tyler tell him about his old instructors, the bars he would frequent, the classes that had been the best and the classes that had been the worst. He asked Lorca about his time, and he brushed the questions away, making up vague answers to cover up the fact that he had never been to San Francisco, and for all his research, he knew very little of his own supposed time as a cadet. Tyler listened, transfixed, but when Lorca met his eye, he looked down.

Lorca refilled their glasses when they emptied, noting the nervous speed at which Tyler finished his wine, how his fingers played over the crystal. Lorca wasn’t sure if his lieutenant was drunk or just a little addled, but his eyes were heavy and his words slowed. It wasn’t right to keep him any longer, to get him any drunker, and Lorca offered him a hand.

‘You’ve got an early shift tomorrow.’ He smiled at the lieutenant, whose eyes darted anywhere but Lorca’s face as he let himself be hoisted to his feet. He nodded in agreement, and stumbled — Lorca caught him, a hand on his elbow, another at his waist. They were very very close.

And then Tyler’s mouth was on his, his beard scratching against his face, his lips chapped and desperate, fingers gripping his collar. So Lorca kissed him back, of course he did, with such a willing boy at his mercy, so eager and desperate. But no, no, that isn’t what a Federation captain would do, is it? He stilled, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer (no matter how much he wanted to, that lithe and light body of his).

Then, as suddenly as he had kissed him, Tyler pulled away, tumbling over his feet in his hurry to get away. His eyes wide, he stumbled backwards and left without a word.

* * *

As Lorca had expected, the lieutenant showed up in his ready room the next morning, tail between his legs, eyes boring into his own feet.

‘What’s on your mind, soldier?’ Charming, disarming.

‘Captain, I—' he hesitated, his gaze finding a spot close to Lorca’s ear to focus on, ‘I need to apologise for my behaviour.’ With his hands folded behind his back, he was the image of an obedient soldier. Lorca could imagine his Terran counterpart, proud of his role in the Empire, clad in leather and gold. He would, perhaps, be even more enchanting.

Lorca walked around his desk, fingers trailing its surface. Tyler stiffened as he came close, meeting his eye for a moment before looking away again, staring into the middle distance.

‘If you had done something wrong,’ Lorca told him, Tyler’s breath heavy and warm against his face, ‘I would have told you. I didn’t mind. Not at all.’

Tyler looked at him then, frightened and nervous.

‘It’s against Starfleet regulations—‘ he began but Lorca cut him off:

‘War’s against Starfleet regulations. They’ve made me exempt of the rules and regulations we have to follow in peacetime. I extend the same exemption to my crew. To you. If you want it.’ Lorca returned behind his desk, separating them. ‘You know where my quarters are.’

‘Captain?’ Tyler opened his mouth to continue, as though to protest, he wavered and instead straightened his back, clicking his heels in respect. Lorca imagined Tyler give the Terran salute, honouring him. He smiled. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Bowing his head, Tyler left the room.

* * *

Tyler didn’t come to his quarters that night, nor the next, and Lorca wondered if he had misread him. On the third night, his patience was rewarded.

‘Captain.’ Tyler said quietly as he stepped inside the quarters, waiting for the door to close, as if frightened that someone was listening in.

‘Call me Gabriel. We’ve escaped unbeatable odds together, so will you allow me that?’ Lorca looked up at him, tipping his head just a little to meet his eye, and he was suddenly annoyed that Tyler was taller than him.

‘Gabriel.’ Tyler spoke his name like an invocation. There was worship in his voice, a deep adoration that Lorca had not yet seen in this universe. Then Tyler didn’t say anything at all, tracing his fingertips along Lorca’s hairline, the touch hesitant and cautious. There was a glimmer of a smile as his fingers traced down to his chin, tipping his face up for a first chaste kiss.

Lorca held himself back, hands at his side, and considered what the other him would do. Would he even be in this situation? Yes, he decided after a moment’s thought — the Starfleet Lorca might have been raised in a weakened world, but he would not be above temptation. The Admiral was proof of that.

So, as a Starfleet officer would, he kissed him gently, gentler than anyone he had ever kissed before. He never kissed Michael like this. (But he thought of Michael, all courage and youth and glory and potential, and his heart ached.) Tyler moved against him, leading the assault, fingers gripping him close now, furious kisses and desperate murmurs.

Over the coming nights, Lorca discovered there were two halves of Ash Tyler. There was the man who was hesitant, yielding and desperate for affection, whose very emotions almost seemed too much for him. He buried his face in the nook of Lorca’s arm; he murmured his name in supplication; he kissed like a man dying of thirst. He cried, sometimes, and Lorca would hold him, promising to keep him safe. Then there was the man who shoved him up against the wall and tore at his clothes, aggressive and animalistic. He growled and bit and — oh — he laughed, low and harsh, when Lorca pinned him to the bed. This first Tyler he knew well, not so far removed from the lieutenant on duty. This other Tyler, though, was something savage, something alien, something almost Terran.

Whatever it was, it satisfied him like nothing had — nothing but Michael. He wondered what she would think of him, if he passed muster. She would approve, he decided. Tyler could give him things Michael never could.

* * *

Of course he saw how Tyler looked at Michael. Their eyes met looking at her. Tyler watched her, intrigued and admiring. Lorca had gouged our men’s eyes out for less. But he didn’t mind the way Tyler’s speech was a little rushed and awkward when he spoke with her, his attraction hidden to no one but her, because Lorca knew her destiny. He would rule the Empire. She would be by his side.

And Ash Tyler? Well. There was a certain symmetry, a certain beauty, to allowing Michael to have him. Lorca had possessed Michael (and he would again); he had possessed Tyler. It seemed only fair that she, too, should have him. And when they returned home — to his universe, the right universe — maybe she could keep him. They could keep him. Lorca gazed at him, with his hair falling in his face and his mind focused on his work, and wondered if he could be rehabilitated. Tyler’s heart was soft, but he could be hardened. He could be made into the Terran he ought to be. Lorca thought about a future where Tyler was the way humans were _meant_ to be, and he forgot to breathe.

He waited for Tyler to reject him, and was surprised when days and weeks passed, and he did not move. He always came to Lorca’s quarters when he was invited, always came on command, and Lorca worried if he didn’t think he had a choice.

‘Ash,’ (and for once he called him by his first name, the name almost more intimate than all the hidden nooks of his body that Lorca had so thoroughly explored) ‘if you don’t want this, you don’t have to.’ His fingers stroked Tyler’s hair, brushing over his beard, lifting his chin so he had to look at him.

He blushed and bit his lip, a vision of bashful wickedness.

‘I do want this.’ Tyler insisted, and, with a force that always knocked Lorca aback, he pulled him close.

Lorca realised, as he ran his fingers through Tyler’s hair, half-asleep in the crook of his arm, that he would miss this. But until Tyler summoned his courage, or until they finally came home and could finally reclaim Michael, he would savour it.

* * *

The ending came, as he had predicted and, had he thought about it more than he had, exactly how he would have expected. Tyler – hair wet from a shower, barely dressed, Lorca’s marks scattered over his Klingon scars – hovered at the door of the bathroom, studying Lorca, who was still nestled between the sheets, a PADD propped up on the bedside. The Federation did love its paperwork. He recognised most of the names: men he had fought alongside with; women he had respected and almost trusted; Andorian warriors he had broken in torture; Vulcan scholars whose necks he had snapped. It was strange to see them reflected in this mirrored world, compassionate, worried, and pathetic. Lorca was aware of Tyler’s hesitance as he stared at him, and Lorca didn’t look up. He’d get there, sooner or later. He had work to do.

At long last, Tyler cleared his throat and Lorca looked up at him. He looked concerned and he already knew what he would say.

‘We need to – Captain – I – Gabriel.’ After the false starts Tyler paused, a hand through his hair and his face turned away. He rarely called Lorca by his first name, the word reserved for frenzied entreaties when he was too far gone to keep himself in control. There was a sadness in the way he said it, now, and Lorca suddenly felt an anger he had not allowed himself since leaving his universe, a raw, infected thing. How _dare_ this boy try to give him up? No one ever had. And of all the people – Michael? She did not belong to him, the whimpering pathetic son of a bitch, she belonged to him, and to his world, and – he closed his eyes and reminded himself of Starfleet. The Gabriel Lorca of this world would not react like this. Gracious, forgiving. Happy that Tyler would open up to him. He opened his eyes again and got up, kicking the sheets from his feet.

Tyler buried his face in the dip of Lorca’s collar bone, Lorca’s fingers ghosting over his hip bones. They stayed still as Tyler breathed, as he waited and summoned his courage.

‘There’s someone else.’ Tyler murmured the words against his skin, Lorca’s fingers in his hair now, holding him in a loose embrace. He ran his hands down his back, and despite himself, Tyler moved closer.

‘Michael.’ The name was a whisper. Tyler stiffened, and there were a panicked second when Lorca wondered if there had been something revelatory in the way he breathed the vowels, if his feelings had been evident in the way he said her name.

‘How did you know?’ Tyler sounded miserable and looked at him, eyes dark and wide. He suspected nothing, and knew even less. Lorca lifted a stray lock of hair from his forehead and planted a single kiss where it had lain. Kindness, he reminded himself. If you let them go, they will return to you.

‘I’ve seen the way you look at her.’  Tyler smiled at this, lowering his head, letting their foreheads touch.

‘I’m sorry. It’s not fair. I’m not fair on you. You’re so kind. Too kind.’  

’Ash, Ash, Ash,’ Tyler’s face was between his hands now, making him look him in the eye, ‘you deserve happiness. You deserve whatever she can give you.’ And he knew, of course he did, what Michael could offer a man, but not _this_ Michael, not _this_ man. ‘I’m not angry.’

And as he again kissed his forehead he realised he was barely pretending, his previous flaming fury quenched into barely a flicker. For now, he could wait. He could wait on his world, on Michael, on Tyler, on his empire. In time, everything would come to him. That was his fate.

Tyler smiled weakly, his fingers awkwardly flitting from one place to another, against Lorca’s hip, his arms, his shoulders, at once pushing away and pulling closer. Did he really want to end this? His eyes were closed and his back was crouched, as though he wanted to diminish himself to please Lorca.

‘Thank you, Captain.’ Tyler said after a long silence, straightening and touching his face, his cold fingertips brushing over his skin. ‘I guess I should go, then.’

‘Guess you should. But maybe get dressed first, or people will get suspicious.’

Tyler laughed at this, bright and innocent, his dimples cutting deep. They got dressed together, sorting out the mess of entangled clothes and passing items to one another in silence. Lorca held out Tyler’s uniform jacket for him, easing him into the sleeves and zipping it up, adjusting the insignia, which had been knocked askew in their hurry to get undressed. Lorca wished he had known then that it had been the last time.

‘Looking good, soldier.’ Lorca squeezed his shoulder. If he had only been fully dressed, and if Tyler’s lips were not still red from kissing, it was almost as if they had never slept together. Tyler looked down at his feet, smiling and self-conscious.

‘Will I see you at the battle simulations?’ Tyler moved his hands, up and then down, as though debating if he should touch him. He let them fall to his sides.

‘Of course.’ Lorca dropped his own hand, both hands in his pockets now. They still stood too close, but at least they weren’t touching. ‘I need my best man fighting fit.’

Tyler blushed.

‘I owe you my life. I owe you – everything.’ He paused. ‘I promise I’ll treat her well. I’ll be good to her.’

‘I know.’ Lorca knew he would keep his promise and treat her as well he could manage. But he could never treat her the way Lorca could. She was not made for him.

‘Well then.’ Tyler hesitated, hands burrowed in his uniform pockets, suddenly nervous. ‘Good night, Captain.’

Tyler left, but before he walked out the door, he looked at Lorca, moving his head just slightly, as though he wanted to come back and kiss him once more, as though he was going to. But with a sad half-smile, he turned and didn’t.

Lorca, alone and waiting for destiny to catch up with him, wished he had.


End file.
